Smoke
by Mlee.Write
Summary: "I'm gonna smoke you." Set immediately after 5 x 14. Sequel to All On Your Own. M. One shot.


Title: Smoke

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: M. This is a solid M, as in essentially erotica.

Spoilers: Through 5 x 14, Red in Tooth and Claw

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with the Mentalist in any way and not making a profit.

Summary: "I'm gonna smoke you." Set right where 5 x 14 left off. Sequel to All On Your Own

Author's Note: For Starry19.

"I'm gonna smoke you," he observed, his statement, cocky as it was, also laced with disappointment.

The truth was, he had hoped Lisbon would be challenging opponent.

He wanted to take her—just not at cards, and not yet.

She smirked at him, the curl of her lip irritated but also amused. He knew she found him charming when he was being obnoxious. It was a talent he'd honed over the years: irritating but adorable. He was aware, intellectually, that he was an attractive man, and he used it to his advantage.

Tonight he planned on using his charms, all of them, shamelessly.

Tonight he would get his revenge.

"Let's try that again, shall we?" he asked, redistributing their stakes. "Deal again."

She rolled her eyes, but began to shuffle the cards. She would cut the deck—_snap_, then crack the cards against the table to realign the deck.

He'd been planning his revenge quietly over the past couple of weeks, plotting at how he would get back at her for the little stunt she'd pulled in the elevator.

_Snap._

_Crack._

It was unusual for Patrick Jane to be surprised, adept as he was at reading the thoughts and feelings of others. Prior to her little prank on him, the last time he'd been shocked—well and properly shocked—was when he'd found that note Red John had left for him. Then he'd misjudged his opponent as well.

_Snap._

_Crack._

He would admit that he had been an ass to her—well not admit it out loud, but admit it all the same. He'd been condescending and pompous, but he'd been distracted with thoughts of Red John and the list he was compiling.

Then Lisbon provided him with his second true shock in a decade. She attacked him the elevator with a searing kiss and a hand job.

_Snap._

_Crack._

Attacked wasn't the right word, he mused, watching her shuffle. He'd been attacked by other women before and fended them off with little problem. Lisbon had seduced him, all with a smoldering kiss and the firm, confident touch of her hands. He could have pushed her away, could have diffused the situation, but he'd been so utterly stunned by her actions that he didn't. Then he'd reciprocated.

_Snap._

_Crack._

After a decade of celibacy and one meaningless night of sex, Teresa Lisbon had awakened things in him that had been dormant, woken a slumbering dragon. He'd returned her kisses, her caresses, and in the span of the sixty seconds had nearly lost his mind and taken her up against the wall of the CBI elevator.

_Snap._

_Crack._

And then she'd left him high and dry, miserably aroused, as punishment for being a jerk.

He didn't know she had it in her. He was a little thrilled to discover she did.

Which lead to the poker game in question, and his revenge. He wasn't the type of person to let a deed like that go unpunished.

She dealt, the cards whispering across the table.

"Are you going to show off again or are you really going to play?" she asked dryly, dropping a yellow gummy in the center of the table.

He glanced at his cards. "I wasn't showing off."

"You were cheating," she remarked, looking at him over his cards. "I'm sure you had an ace hidden somewhere."

A wicked little idea entered his head. "We could strip naked. Then you'd know I wasn't hiding anything."

She rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. "I'm sure you'd love that."

He would actually.

"Not really," he observed, his tone bored. "It's cold in here."

Then he beat her. Again.

XXX

By the third time he'd stripped her of all her stakes, she'd grown angry. Her sharp little eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "You're cheating," she said, throwing her cards onto the table.

"Am not," he said in a sing-song sort of voice, lazy.

"No one wins every game, Jane," she snapped. "It's statistically impossible."

"Improbable," he corrected. He set his cards down and smiled at her, crooked and insolent.

She snatched one of his gummies and ate it, then settled back in her seat and folded her arms over her chest.

"You _ate_ my stake," he said.

She shrugged, reached out, ate another. Squinted at him as if daring him to do something.

"You're clearly not motivated to win," he said. "We need higher stakes."

"I was with you in Vegas. I am not betting you money," she said dryly. "And if you even suggest strip poker, I'll smack you upside the head."

They had been playing most of the night, and the office was dark now. The air felt close around them, intimate. The whole world was the little puddle of amber light thrown off by her desk lamp.

"Strip poker? Lisbon, what do you take me for?" He quirked an eyebrow.

She was unimpressed. "A man."

"Yes, you're keenly aware of that, aren't you," he drawled.

Her cheeks flushed. They'd never spoken about the elevator incident. She'd gone on as if it hadn't happened. He suspected she'd done it in a fit of anger, and had been embarrassed later. He so wanted to tempt that spontaneous vixen back out.

He shuffled the deck, letting the cards slip through his fingers with a hypnotic pace. "Winner of the game gets a kiss," he said casually.

"That's stupid," she replied too quickly. "No matter who wins, we wind up kissing each other."

He handed her the cards to shuffle and deal, knowing she wouldn't trust him—and rightfully so. He was an unrepentant liar.

"You misunderstand, Lisbon, the winner gets to be in control of the kiss. A kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the mouth…anywhere really." He leaned back in his chair and studied her as color rose on her neck. Her lashes swept downward as she feigned nonchalance.

"What makes you think I want to kiss you?" she asked, but the venom she'd meant to inject into the statement was lacking.

"Then you can kiss my cheek," he replied. "To prove that you have no interest in kissing me whatsoever."

She looked up at him again, eyes narrowed.

She dealt the cards and won, soundly.

He opened his arms dramatically. "I am at your mercy, Teresa."

She rolled her eyes but approached him warily, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. A sisterly kiss.

He could smell her perfume, enhanced by the heat of her body. Her lips were hot and flush. She was aroused by the game.

She stood back up and sighed. "All right Jane, it's time to call it a night," she said in her boss-voice, trying to break the spell he'd been weaving around them.

He snatched her wrist before she could move away, felt her pulse hammering there.

"I need an opportunity to win my kiss back," he said, staring up her with what he knew was open lust.

"Jane," she warned. Her pulse beat harder.

"Coward," he taunted.

She swallowed thickly, clearly thinking about the consequences. She could sense that this was getting serious now.

"Chicken," he teased.

Her nostrils flared and she pulled away from him. For a moment he thought she was going to pull back, and march out the door, but instead she sat down and began shuffling again.

He felt a thrill of anticipation in the base of his spine.

Just as he'd intended, he won. The look on her face as he revealed his cards was one of wariness, but also of frank arousal and anticipation. He didn't mean for it to happen, but he felt himself growing hard in response.

He approached her slowly, sitting on the edge of the table next to her. He took his time, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, letting the silk of it slip between his fingers. He leaned in close, his breath fanning across her lips and cheek.

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

He thought about ending it there, preserving the friendship between them by saying something smarmy and sauntering off. Then her breathing hitched and he couldn't help himself. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her, feather soft at first, then more demanding. He traced the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, exploring, beckoning.

She opened her lips with a sigh and he slipped inside, all liquid velvet and heat. She tasted like lemon gummy and sex.

He'd forgotten about kisses like this, all slow burn and wet heat. He wound his hand through her hair, tilted her head back. The thrust of his tongue became demanding, harsh. He wanted to taste every inch of her. He wanted to hear her moan.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, pressing her hand against his chest. "Jane," she said. Her eyes were wide.

He still held a fistful of her hair. "No," he said, and kissed her again.

Her arm found its way around his neck, holding him neither at bay nor close to her. She kissed him back, the flick of her tongue like a tempest, furious and disorienting.

When they broke apart for air he felt shaky and fierce with need. An animal part of his brain begged him to take her on the table. He wanted to be so deep inside of her that it hurt.

The rational, cool, Jane part of his brain said, "All in?"

"All in what?" Her voice was trembling.

"One more hand, all in, winner sets the rules," he said darkly, watching her pupils dilate as she caught his meaning.

"I…" The word caught in her throat.

He leaned his face against her hair, his mouth touching her ear. He smelled the clean scent of her shampoo. "I want you so much," he murmured. It was the first honest thing he'd said all night.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Okay."

He drew in a breath, smiling a shark smile, and sat back to let her deal.

He laid out a full house in front of her.

She stared at him, her breathing fast, her lips parted. He reached out and took her hand.

Gently he led her to the couch where he laid her back, came to rest over her.

"You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?" he asked, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. "You didn't realize what a Pandora's box you'd opened."

"Uhm," she said, and he kissed her again.

When she reached down to wind her arms around his neck, he caught her hands and raised them back over her head. "My rules," he reminded her.

He swore she whimpered, just a little.

"I'm going to take off your clothes now," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"Jesus, Jane," she said, her eyes were wide.

He ran his tongue along her ear. "If you thought we were talking about making out on the sofa, you were wrong," he said.

Eyes liquid-dark, she kept her hands above her head, fingers twisted in the soft cushion, as he pulled her sweater off her. He tossed it to the floor (the closest a man should get to a fitted sweater is helping a woman out of one), and immediately went to work on her bra. It was plain, white, clasped in front. He unhooked it and relished the sight of her breasts falling free of it.

She was all pale and firm and rose tipped. He wanted desperately to take her into his mouth, but not yet. He pulled off her shoes and socks, then, very slowly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. His fingers barely brushed her, but he swore where they did, he left a path of fire behind.

She bit her lip.

He pulled them off her legs, taking her underwear with them.

She was completely naked beneath him. He sat back and studied her, memorized each curve and plane. Arousal pounded so hard in his blood that he thought for a second he might have a heart attack.

He'd seen plenty of naked women, but this was Teresa naked, and she was unerring beautiful. He traced his fingers along the flat plane of her belly and realized he was losing his own game, transfixed by her. Her heart was beating so hard he could feel it in her stomach.

His breathing was hard. He realized he must look like an animal, staring at her with that much open lust, on a razor's edge of control.

She'd shocked him, he reminded himself. This was payback.

Very slowly he trailed his fingers down the skin of her belly, across the mink-colored shadow at the apex of her thighs. Then, gently but without warning, he slid his fingers inside of her.

She gasped, arched her back.

She was liquid and hot, so terribly aroused already. He began a slow and steady rhythm, bending to capture her mouth in another bone-melting kiss. He memorized the feel of her, the way she clenched around him, every little gasp and twitch. He could smell her arousal and it was heady, intoxicating. He filed all the details away for later, when he would relive them, savor them.

He bent to take her nipple into his mouth, increasing his pace, grinning at the restless rolling of her hips.

She was so close. One tiny flick of his thumb would send her right over the edge.

Bucking underneath him now, she lost control and let her arms fall, her hand grasping his arm tightly.

He had planned to end it here, tit for tat, but now he wanted to feel her climax. Then he wanted to make her do it again and again until she was absolutely exhausted. He wanted to responsible for the deep slumber she would fall into later. He wanted to taste and smell her on his body for hours.

Her fingers convulsed around his sleeve, then she went stiff.

"Yes," he murmured against her lips, "come for me."

Her hand squeezed his arm, hard. Then with one swift move she shoved him off of her.

"You shit," she snarled, hair swirling around her in a dark cloud. She up, but didn't bother to cover herself.

He flexed his wrist, and the cards he'd hidden up his sleeve fell to the floor.

"You didn't think I was going to play _fair_, did you?" he asked, all innocence and charm.

She growled at him, actually growled, then grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a bruising, punishing kiss.

"I still won," he said against her lips, pushing her back against the couch and resuming his earlier exploration of her body.

He stroked her, beckoned her, brought her just to the edge with his lips and fingers.

Her kisses were ravenous now, her fingers in his hair, her little moans of pleasure interspersed with irritated huffs of air. She was angry and aroused and insatiable. She bit at his lips, the pain meshing with pleasure until all he saw was red.

The moment he felt her spasm around him he pulled back to watch her face, her expression stormy and yielding all at once, something magical to behold.

His angry little princess.

He watched her come down, her eyes growing heavy lidded. Without thinking about it he licked his fingers clean, relishing the taste, and she shuddered.

"This isn't over you know," she said drowsily. "You owe me a real game. And I'm going to smoke you."


End file.
